Buddy Holly’s music lives on

Opinion: February 3, 2012 at 12:00a.m.

By Herb B. BERKOWITZ

McClatchy-Tribune

The Jan. 20 death of 72-year-old rhythm-and-blues legend Etta James, just three days after the death of her mentor, bandleader Johnny Otis, is a sad reminder that the early pioneers of rock-n-roll are a dying breed.

Of those who helped define rock’s earliest years, only a handful of stars remain, such as Chuck Berry, Pat Boone, Fats Domino, Don and Phil Everly, Jerry Lee Lewis and “Little Richard” Penniman.

The first to go — on Feb. 3, 1959, 53 years ago — were Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and the “Big Bopper,” J.P. Richardson, who died in a plane crash after their performance at the Winter Dance Party show at the Surf Ballroom in Clear Lake, Iowa.

Back then, the “cool rockin’ daddies” and “teen queens” who entertained teenage America did so with their passion and voices, not by flashing their private parts. Sure they were rebels in their time. But music in the 1950s was a tough, uncompromising and somewhat shady business. Pretenders might get lucky once in a while, but they didn’t last. Today’s highly scripted sound-alike performers couldn’t have cut it.

Growing list

While the list of departed pioneers is long and growing — the great, near great, one-hit wonders, and those, like Esquerita and Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, who helped push the envelope for those who followed — the death of Holly, Richardson and Valens, immortalized as “the day the music died” by Don McLean in his 1971 hit single, “American Pie,” was a defining moment for many older baby boomers.

I was 13 at the time and can remember sitting in stunned silence when the news broke.

This was the post-war generation’s first real tragedy. Younger boomers wouldn’t feel such loss until November 1963, when Lee Harvey Oswald gunned down JFK. We older boomers, who took our rock-n-roll straight up, without the drugs that followed, got our kick in the butt early.

The Surf Ballroom, which still operates today (www.surfballroom.com), is one of America’s iconic dance halls, with a dark lofted ceiling, hand-painted murals and a 6,300-square-foot dance floor surrounded on two sides by tiers of booths.

I last visited the Surf more than a decade ago for the 40th anniversary Winter Dance Party tribute show. The lineup that weekend included Holly’s original band, the Crickets; the Roses, who often sang backup for Holly; the Fireballs, whose music is dubbed over Holly’s voice on several songs released after his death; Freddy “Boom Boom” Cannon, who first appeared at the Surf in April ’59; Chris Montez, whose career was inspired by Valens; J. P. Richardson Jr., just 3 months old when his father died; and Bobby Vee, a then 15-year-old who was asked to substitute for Holly on the Winter Dance Party’s next tour stop in Fargo, N.D.

The tradition continues this year, with yesterday’s Dance Party featuring Tommy Allsup, the Bobettes, Pat Boone, Danny & the Juniors, the Flamingos, Big Sandy & His Fly-Rite Boys, and Jason D. Williams, among others.

Holly mattered

Holly was born Charles Hardin Holley in Lubbock, Texas, in 1936. In the pre-Beatles era of rock-n-roll he was one of just three white boys who really, really mattered, and the only one who didn’t live long enough to cash in on it.

Elvis, of course, went on to superstardom. Roy Orbison, the Caruso of rock-n-roll, had two No. 1 hits. Holly had just one song reach the top, “That’ll Be the Day,” which peaked at No. 1 for a single week in September 1957. Yet, even to this day, Holly is considered one of the most influential figures in rock history.

Some 53 years after his death, Buddy Holly is still with us. The many twists and turns rock-n-roll has taken since his death hasn’t dimmed his star even a little.

Don McLean was only half right: Buddy Holly died that February weekend in 1959, but his music lives on.

Herb B. Berkowitz is a veteran public relations executive and a lifelong Buddy Holly fan; he lives in Wilmington, N.C. Distributed by MCT Information Services.